


Wherever We're Lost (Jupiter)

by traccigaryn



Series: Mythology [1]
Category: Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes, Rare Pairings, XOs for the XOs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traccigaryn/pseuds/traccigaryn
Summary: "There was no mistaking the Starfleet in the set of his shoulders, just as there was no mistaking the defeat in his eyes. Chakotay recognized that look. He'd seen it in the mirror often enough."
Relationships: Chakotay/Cristóbal Rios, Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway (mentioned)
Series: Mythology [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904464
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27
Collections: XOs for the XOs





	Wherever We're Lost (Jupiter)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeeblack75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeblack75/gifts).



> This story would not exist without [coffeeblack75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeblack75). She was the first one to see the potential in this pairing and patiently kept at me through months of waffling on whether or not I could write it. Her betaing, as always, was superb, and made this story better in all the right ways.

[Tracci Garyn](https://soundcloud.com/user-835906820) · [Wherever We're Lost](https://soundcloud.com/user-835906820/wherever-were-lost)

* * *

"Into Pandora's box with all the ills.  
But not if that little hell-cat Hope's  
Already in possession. I've hoped enough.  
I gave the best years of my life to that girl,  
But I'm walking out with Damnation now, and she's  
A flame who's got finality."  
\- Christopher Fry, _The Lady's Not For Burning_ , Act I

* * *

A young man, probably half his age, sat in the corner with a book, a bottle, and a scowl for company. 

Chakotay continued his surreptitious sweep of the bar. It was a slow evening, and most of the clientele seemed to be regulars. No threats he could discern either. As he settled himself onto a stool with a unimpeded view of the room, his gaze drifted back to the young man. Everyone was giving him a wide berth, and that seemed to be the way he wanted it. Still, it was a curious place to choose for some leisure reading. It was a curious planet to be on without a purpose too. 

Chakotay had finished his business — distasteful, like every assignment he'd worked for Section 31 — but the transport back to Earth didn't leave until 2330 hours. Nothing to fill the hours except nursing his scotch and changing his mind about that job offer again.

He growled into the mouth of his glass, the smoky bite of the alcohol a pleasant distraction. Not for the first time, Chakotay wondered what had happened to the organization he'd pledged himself to not once but twice. He'd continued his Starfleet career after _Voyager_ 's return twelve years ago. After the Dominion War, they'd needed every officer they could get; but he'd known, even at the time, he was just allowing his sense of responsibility to overshadow his own needs once again. Then Section 31 had come sniffing around. A job here. A little favor there. He found its methods disagreeable, its morals almost universally murky, but that hadn't stopped him in the Maquis either, had it? He may not have liked what he was being asked to do, but it was difficult to know who to trust anymore, and sometimes enemies needed to be kept as close as possible. Now they wanted to recruit him full time. He grimaced and took another sip of dry smoke. 

Chakotay's eye was caught by the young man in the corner, reaching up to scratch at his jaw again. Chakotay had counted five times just in the past few minutes. The man had several days' worth of scruff. It was clearly new and uncomfortable, but it suited him far more than the clean cut civility he'd apparently wrapped around himself before this. Chakotay ran his gaze over the man once more, noting a few more details. Dark hair, curling at the ends. Heavy brows. There was no mistaking the Starfleet in the set of his shoulders, just as there was no mistaking the defeat in his eyes. Chakotay recognized that look. He'd seen it in the mirror often enough.

He could feel that old anger well up inside of him, that frustration with himself and with his circumstances. Just _once_ he wanted to be able to ignore his responsibility and enjoy a damn drink. But he knew what it felt like to be in those depths, and he just couldn't leave someone to drown when it was within his power to attempt succor.

He watched the young man pour out a couple more fingers of pisco brandy. Chakotay sighed. He secured what he needed and made his way to the corner.

"What are you reading?" He set the cup of coffee down by the man's elbow.

" _Vete a la mierda._ " He did not look up. 

Even without the universal translator, Chakotay knew exactly what that meant. His lips twitched, and he fought back the grin of amusement.

He slid into a chair. "Is that any way to talk to a senior officer?" His voice was low. Neither of them was in uniform, but that made little difference sometimes.

Alarm and irritation played across the other man's face. "Just who —" he cut himself off as his eyes swept across Chakotay's face, caught on the lines of his tattoo. He drew in a breath. "Sir," he said, and Chakotay was certain if he'd been any other officer, he would be wearing a cup of coffee by now. Interesting.

"Well, you know who I am, I guess. What's your name?"

"Cristóbal. Cris." No rank or last name.

"Cristóbal." Chakotay repeated, matching the man's inflection, and he saw surprised appreciation blink across a tired face. That name rang a bell. Where had he heard it? Without thinking, he murmured, "Cristóbal Rios of the _ibn Majid_." 

The faint light he'd glimpsed in Cris's face guttered and went out. "Good news travels fast."

"Tragedy always makes sure it leaves behind a witness."

* * *

"Nothing in the world could touch me  
And you had to come and be the damnable  
Exception."  
\- Christopher Fry, _The Lady's Not For Burning_ , Act III

* * *

Something flickered in Cris's expression then was shuttered. Chakotay was mesmerized by the younger man's implacable efforts to stifle his own feelings. It was like watching multiple versions of him at the same time. 

"I won't talk about it."

 _Won't, not can't_ , Chakotay noted. He shrugged. "So don't talk about it. All I'm saying is I heard about what happened to your captain, and I'm sorry."

"Everyone heard what I said about Pops," Cris snapped. His eyes shot up to Chakotay's, panicked at having revealed more than he intended. And, there was that barrier going up again. "Doesn't mean you know how I feel."

Chakotay poured a splash of brandy into each coffee cup. What was that expression? A spoonful of sugar? "I had a captain once," he said, "who inspired the crew to dizzying heights of loyalty."

Cris ignored the coffee, taking a swig directly from the brandy bottle. "And how is Admiral Janeway these days?" Everything about him was deliberate, cruel. Desperate. 

Chakotay paused. This wasn't just his secret to tell. But he knew how to calculate the odds, and his instincts told him he should say this. That it might be the only thing to get through to Cris right now. "On her way to some anonymous resort where we'll snatch a few hours together before we have to go back to pretending we lead separate lives."

There was chagrin on his face, but Cris's lips lifted into the first smile Chakotay had seen. It was a shy, infectious thing. "The rumor was the two of you barely talk anymore."

"Then we're doing something right anyway." 

Cris clinked his coffee cup against Chakotay's, smile tugging suggestively at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I bet you are."

Chakotay barked a laugh, and he suddenly liked this man very much. He let the silence rest a minute, studying the table, Cris's blunt fingertips so close to his own hand. "I'm sorry about Vandermeer. He was a good man by all accounts."

"He was the best of men," Cris said quietly. "And if those _bastardos_ at Headquarters —" He didn't finish, of course. He fought to pull his anger back around him. Then, abruptly, "What brings you to this hellhole tonight, Chakotay?" 

The sound of his own name on Cris's lips surprised him, the consonants and vowels rolling off the other man's tongue with unexpected lyricism.

"Hey, I got drummed out of Starfleet the other day. I don't have to use your title."

Chakotay hadn't heard that last part, just about the events leading up to it. It explained a lot. "No, it's not that," he said. "You're welcome to call me Chakotay. And I'm here because … I guess because …"

"It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it," Cris finished for him. His dark eyes were steady and free of judgment. 

Chakotay would not have put his quandary quite that way, but having heard it, he couldn't disagree. "Yeah. That's pretty much it exactly." 

Cris nodded. "Two peas in a pod, you and me."

"Oh?"

Cris waved a hand and leaned closer, his face inches away, his breath warm on Chakotay's cheek. "Not tonight, why we're both here. But generally? Oh yeah."

"I'd like to hear about that, if you'll tell me." Chakotay broke eye contact, moving to pour himself another drink, but the bottle was nearly empty. A glance up. "Want something else from the bar?" 

"Frankly, what I really want is to suck you off, but since that's not going to happen, sure, I'll settle for more brandy."

"Who says it isn't going to happen?"

* * *

"The best  
Thing we can do is to make wherever we're lost in  
Look as much like home as we can."  
\- Christopher Fry, _The Lady's Not For Burning_ , Act III

* * *

The words hung between them, and neither gave any sign of calling them back again.

"Huh." Cris looked impressed with himself. "I didn't think that would actually work."

"It won't if it was just the alcohol talking," Chakotay said gently. He really hoped it wasn't just the alcohol.

Cris made a disgusted noise. "Please. All that's done is take the edge off." Then he glanced down at the table. "But I'd understand if you don't want —" 

Chakotay ducked his head, catching the other man's gaze. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it either. I don't have a lot of time left though, an hour or two."

Cris's lips curled up into a smirk and awareness crackled between them. "Good thing I've got a room at the top of the stairs."

No one paid them any attention as they vacated the table and climbed the steps. Chakotay watched Cris ahead of him, saw the play of thigh muscles beneath his pants, and felt his own pants tighten across his swelling cock. This wasn't how he'd expected the day to end, but he couldn't deny he'd felt more than a recognition of shared pain between them downstairs. 

Cris bolted the door behind them, and Chakotay took advantage of his momentary distraction to push him back against the wood. Cris was slightly taller, so Chakotay leaned up into the kiss, nipping at his lower lip to demand entrance. His tongue swept into the other man's mouth. He tasted of brandy and coffee, ash and bliss. 

He'd expected a battle, but all he found was the heat of summer.

One of them sighed. He wasn't sure who. Their mouths still testing, tasting, Cris reached up to tug at Chakotay's jacket. 

"She won't mind?"

"Kathryn?" He felt his lips curl up, felt Cris lick into that curve. "No." Mind? If Kathryn caught a glimpse of this Jupiter herself, he might not get a kiss in edgewise.

His jacket was on the floor. Cris's hands were sweeping along the skin of his stomach, pushing his shirt up with restless fingers. 

"This is okay?"

Chakotay stilled. He pulled back and brought his finger up to drift along the wetness on Cris's lips. "Cris. It's okay. It's all okay." 

Cris gave a ragged nod. "Okay. Good." Then his tongue snaked out, trailing along Chakotay's finger before drawing it into his mouth. Chakotay thrust his hips forward and felt an answering hardness. Cris released his finger and leaned forward to whisper raggedly, "Please, let me suck you. I want you in my mouth, on my tongue."

Chakotay took a step backward, and Cris matched him step by step. Their eyes did not leave each other's face. The back of Chakotay's knees hit the edge of the bed, and he thought for one second they'd overbalance, but he latched onto Cris's arm and held them steady. He felt strong hands at his waist, undoing the fastenings of his pants, and shoving them down. A warm grip slid between fabric and skin, cupping him briefly before pulling him free of his briefs. It stroked along his length, knuckles caressing along his belly, as the hand moved up and down, up and down. 

Liquid seeped from the tip of his cock. He moaned and didn't bother to do it quietly. Cris sank to his knees, his stubbled cheek running down Chakotay's chest. A tongue darted out, gliding, circling the straining tip. Hands grasped his buttocks, pulling him infinitesimally forward to meet those questing lips. He slid into warmth. 

"That's right," he rasped, pushing deeper. "So damn good."

Cris left one hand on his ass and brought the other forward to grasp the base of Chakotay's cock. He accepted every thrust into his mouth like a gift, his fingers curving down to find that spot just underneath — 

Chakotay felt his vision darkening. His hand gripped the back of Cris's head, and he fucked faster, faster until he was spilling into that beautiful mouth, dripping down that chin.

Cris licked his lips and looked up with a lazy grin. " _Puta madre_. You're good at that."

Chakotay tugged on Cris's hair, urging him up. "So are you." He lapped his semen from the other man's mouth, tasted himself on the other man's tongue. "Ready for your turn?" 

"I like …"

"Yeah?"

"I like hand jobs."

Chakotay smiled. "Oh, we can accommodate." 

Clothes were soon scattered across the floor. Cris was solid all the way up, his body an example of the kind of power that came from true activity not a workout room. He had a nasty bruise low on one shin. "My last football match," he said. Chakotay traced the area lightly, his finger running through coarse leg hair before trailing up into the thatch of hair at the base of Cris's cock. Chakotay tugged lightly, repeating his gesture from earlier, and Cris groaned. His hand clutched into the pillows. Chakotay caressed him. The loop of his fingers ran along veins and silky skin, and he leaned forward to place the lightest of kisses at its head. He watched the other man's body strain until it was a taut bow, quivering to release. Chakotay tightened his grip and increased his speed. Cris's breath was coming out in harsh gasps, but he managed to say, "Inside you. I want to be …"

"Do you have — "

"Yeah. In my bag …"

Their bodies turned and twisted, resettling against each other until Chakotay felt him slide inside. His own hand pulled at the sheets, tearing them half off the mattress. Cris was driving. Coming. Spent.

They lay side by side amongst the pillows, half leaning against the headboard. 

"I do _not_ call her Pops."

"Yeah, but does she call you Daddy?"

Chakotay gave a snort of laughter. "I can't believe you just said that."

Cris looked over at him with a grin, and Chakotay's words caught in his throat. 

"What?"

"What brought you here, Cris? No one comes here unless they have to."

Cris's smile faded. "I came here tonight because I couldn't walk away."

"And I was hoping to talk myself out of giving in."

Cris turned on his side to face Chakotay. "Sounds like we both got something unexpected." Chakotay waited. "I heard that Admiral Jessup was stopping here on her way home. I thought … I thought if I could talk to her, get her to listen …"

"You could get them to let you back in." 

"I don't know who I am without a ship."

"Okay, but who says it has to be a 'fleet ship?"

Cris opened his mouth. Closed it again. Finally he said, "You'd better get cleaned up. Your transport leaves soon."

As Chakotay showered, he thought back over the evening. Cristóbal Rios fascinated him. He recognized that depth and capacity for anger, the intense weight of care even when he didn't want to shoulder it. But he also saw Kathryn's propensity to revel in her volatility, her need to martyr herself through loneliness. Still, similarities or no, Cris was his own man and needed to heal in his own way. And Chakotay was under no illusions. It was entirely likely Cris might even have further to fall before it was all over again. One conversation, one night was not going to fix everything. But maybe it had given him a chance to breathe. 

Chakotay turned off the water, toweling himself off. 

He handed Cris a damp hand towel to clean himself up. As Cris's hands stroked his belly, his thighs, Chakotay said, "You don't owe Starfleet anything, Cristóbal. Like any organization, it can be weak and corrupt and make mistakes. And it can eat you alive if you let it."

"Like you're letting it do to you?"

"I'm nobody's hero," he said and there was no bitterness there, only certainty.

The younger man stood and faced him. Leaned forward to kiss him. "Pretty sure that's not up to you, Chakotay."

As the transport lifted off, Chakotay glanced back down at the planet's surface. There, in the distance, was a quiet bar and an unquiet man.

He had a little further to fall himself, but Section 31 wouldn't own him forever. For the first time in a long time, he could see that again. 


End file.
